z

Young Writers Society


E - Everyone

I don't know how to begin

by Fizz


This is another little piece of the autobiographical stuff I've been working through. It's all really out of order, and I'm just writing about things when I feel like I can handle it. This piece is a fraction of what I want to say. But a fraction is still something.

______________________________

I’ve never been good at beginnings, or plots, or dialogue. I couldn’t write you a story, at least not a proper one. I can’t give people names, can’t conjure them in to a being that has personality, and opinions, and pasts. My concept is never concrete enough to withhold a concrete person. But my concepts, or my whims, are rooted deep, stuck by something stronger than concrete. I can’t give you much, maybe even nothing at all.

I’ve always been a lonely person. My parents like to say that I was self-sufficient, independent, introverted. I don’t think that’s true. I think I simply got used to the feeling of loneliness, got used to the need. I still need for everything, everything that isn’t available anymore. I can’t have the parents I wanted. I’m too old for that now. But things can’t just stop because you don’t get what you want. There are too many things to want, and we always want. There is only tomorrow, and the endless days after that. Days when we must create for ourselves the things that we wanted, but never got. These days are not long enough.

Once, a little over a year ago, I stood at the edge, and peered down in to the gap. I leant in to the wind, eyes closed, heart beating too fast, brain not responding. I could see the bottom, and it was nothing. It wasn’t welcoming, or significant. It was a little scary, but only because all I new was behind that edge, on the dry land behind me. There is a conundrum there. I didn’t know, didn’t know about the gap. But I didn’t think I could step back. Not when I’d come this far. But then, my brain started to switch on, and it was bad. It was very bad.

My heart was still beating, pulsing too fast. It might have beat too fast forever, and I would have died young. Maybe even before my parents. But it was ok. It settled in to a memory of a rhythm from before. It left no scar.

I feel as though I might have something to say. These experiences, experiences that most people never touch, they must mean something. But I don’t think I can put them together, never make sense of them. Because how do you make sense of the irrational? The senseless? How do you enforce order on experiences that are messy, and muddled?

Maybe the story will have to be as ugly, and messy, and deranged. Just as we were.

Note: You are not logged in, but you can still leave a comment or review. Before it shows up, a moderator will need to approve your comment (this is only a safeguard against spambots). Leave your email if you would like to be notified when your message is approved.







Is this a review?


  

Comments


User avatar
24 Reviews

Points: 242
Reviews: 24

Donate
Mon Nov 17, 2014 2:50 pm
Delirium wrote a review...



Hey there! Delirium here to give you a review!

I have to admit, I scrolled past this a few times before actually clicking. I was a bit hesitant to open the door and peer into your life. I find it difficult reading about others lives, as I often cringe when they remind me of my own. However, I am glad that I decided to take a leap into your world and read this piece.

For an intro to a biography, this is phenomenal. I normally despise biographies and auto-biographies, as they tend to bore me to sleep. However, I felt very connected with this piece, and could relate to it in several ways. It was short, and too the point, but not bland - which I like :) .

Once, a little over a year ago, I stood at the edge, and peered down in to the gap. I leant in to the wind, eyes closed, heart beating too fast, brain not responding. I could see the bottom, and it was nothing. It wasn’t welcoming, or significant. It was a little scary, but only because all I new was behind that edge, on the dry land behind me. There is a conundrum there. I didn’t know, didn’t know about the gap. But I didn’t think I could step back. Not when I’d come this far. But then, my brain started to switch on, and it was bad. It was very bad.

This part, in and of itself, is a little story, a little taste for the reader, inviting them in further and tempting them to keep reading. Very, very interesting, and I can relate indefinitely. It can also have multiple meanings for different readers, depending on their experiences.

Maybe the story will have to be as ugly, and messy, and deranged. Just as we were.

This is a great way to end this piece, and yet invite us into the next chapter of the biography.

Overall, I had nothing to complain about. This was an amazing piece, and I give you a 10/10. Great job, and keep on writing! I hope to read more!

xx- Delirium




Fizz says...


Thank you! I really appreciate the feedback :)



User avatar
50 Reviews

Points: 242
Reviews: 50

Donate
Sun Nov 16, 2014 2:01 am
Firelight says...



This story is amazing. It has so much heart! I can assure you, this beginning is great! Your feelings are expressed so well. It has a mysterious air to it that I like. The way it is written just pulls me in! When I read the title, I wasn't sure about it, but it really is great. Perfect. You have a real talent.




User avatar
74 Reviews

Points: 2990
Reviews: 74

Donate
Tue Nov 11, 2014 9:25 pm
CreativelyWritten wrote a review...



I'm not going to review this so much as I will give my thoughts. As this is your life, a true story, I do not feel as if I can correct it.

I will say, I'm sorry you felt/feel that way. Nobody deserves that. Nobody. That being said, the way you wrote it was beautiful. Autobiographical pieces are hard to write, at least in my opinion, because I don't like talking about myself. And on top of that, once I can think of something to write I don't know how to embellish it because it actually happened. How does one make a true event like 'My mother died when I was five.' something beautiful like 'She left me alone. Now I had become another faceless child. An orphan.' To me... I don't know I just can't do that very well. Works of fiction will always be easier for me to write. And that's why your piece is so powerful. Not only is it dramatic because of the content but also because of your writing style.

Paragraph one was my absolute favorite.

Keep pushing on, keep writing, and if you ever need anyone to talk to I'm here :)

CreativelyWritten





He who has a why to live for can bear with almost any how.
— Friedrich Nietzsche